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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883050">beautifully, tragically</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm'>cursedwurm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Rough Sex, Scratching, Terrible Evil Men in Love, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:07:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment the two of them stay like that, foreheads pressed together as they roll their hips into each other’s, their breath mingling in the mere inches of space between them. It’s a welcome, if strange, moment of closeness, of imperfectly human intimacy. There and then, on Elias’ bed on New Year’s Eve, they’re nothing more than two men, beautifully, tragically in love with each-other.</p><p>Three words leave Elias’ mouth before he has time to think about what he’s saying, and Peter returns them, the last pieces of his walls crumbling away into nothing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>beautifully, tragically</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i have 0 excuse for this. i do not get rights after writing this. all the usual notes apply kudos comment yada yada.<br/>also feminine terms are used for elias' genitalia and as always. not transmasc but got advice/help from transmasc friends/mutuals writing this. yada yada.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>New Year is one of the few times a year that Elias takes off. Usually he wouldn't even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> of spending three whole days away from the institute, but most of his employees take time off then anyway, and the few members of staff that are left make it abundantly clear that they'd rather be anywhere else than work. Besides, it would look suspicious if he were to work constantly without breaks, especially over the festive period. All in all, it makes sense to keep the institute shut over the New Year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More often than not, Elias spends New Year alone. He has no family to spend the holidays with and he doesn't enjoy the company of drunk strangers in pubs and bars. A few years ago he'd attended a new year's reunion with some friends from university, though it had been fairly awkward considering the last time he'd seen them had been before he'd taken this body - an awkwardness which only increased when he drunkenly let slip that one of them (Daniel? David? He honestly can't remember his name) had been cheating on his wife with a woman half his age. Of course, he occasionally spends New Year with Peter, but that's reliant on whether or not their relationship is… Well, the last time they'd spoken they had been on good terms, but a lot can change when you don't see your husband for eight months. Elias, mostly, spends New Year's catching up on reading and getting some extra sleep; it's not like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take time doing either of those things, but it is nice to spend a bit of time on himself. He ends up sleeping in until one in the afternoon, something he hasn't done since the 1800s. He also takes a bath though he fails to enjoy it, only becoming restless and draining the tub after just ten minutes. He ends up pouring himself a glass of wine and lighting a cigarette, standing on his balcony and looking out over the street. By now the sun has already set, the moon sickly and pale against the inky London sky. Elias holds the cigarette between his teeth, looking down at the reflection of the lit London skyline in his wine, which stains the edges of his glass a deep, bloody red. There are already people leaving to go to parties, and in a matter of hours there will be drunk crowds of people lined up along the Thames and fireworks will fill the sky to mark the start of another year. He's never been a fan of these celebrations- though that's mostly down to the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>two-hundred years old</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing. They get rather… repetitive after a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smoke of his cigarette curls around him, its pleasantly stale stench filling his lungs as he takes it out of his mouth to take another sip of his wine. It isn't often that he indulges in such unhealthy habits (the smoking more so than the drinking) but it isn't exactly like it will effect him- if the worst comes to the worst he can always just find a new body. On the street beneath him a group of twenty-somethings male their way to a New Year's party, and Elias can tell without any need for omniscience that not one of them will be sober by the end of the night. Once upon a time, Elias Bouchard would've been among them, going out with the sole aim of getting sloshed and snogging someone he didn't know. He can only be glad that the man who would've done that with such little shame had died back in the 1990s. He chuckles at the thought and takes another long drag from his cigarette, noticing something mixing with the smoke as it billows from his lips. It's hard to distinguish at first: the thin, cool curl of fog blends into the cigarette smoke like cyanide in water. Elias might not have noticed it if it weren't for the tell-tale smell of sea salt, slowly enveloping him and holding him like a familiar, somewhat unwelcome, old friend. He sighs, taking a sip of his wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Peter," he says, "Come to wish me a happy New Year?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears a familiar chuckle from behind him, the fog wrapping around his hands and caressing his cheek. "What, is it so unexpected?" Peter asks, "To want to spend the new year with my husband?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias rolls his eyes; Peter's been away so long he forgot they were even married. He can also practically hear the smile on his husband's face and it makes his grip on his glass of wine tighten. Narrowing his eyes, he turns around to face him, taking another long drag of his cigarette as he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's been years since we spent New Year together," he points out, "Last time we did New Year was in 2004, and you hated every second of it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's true." Peter makes his way to the balcony, leaning against the railings beside Elias. He looks much the same as ever, save for his eyes which, for once, seem to sparkle with something other than loneliness. Elias frowns, unsure if he likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So why the sudden change of heart?" he asks, glaring up at his husband, "Don't tell me you're getting sentimental in your old age."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter just shrugs. "I wouldn't say that," he replies, "It's just that the Tundra's docked for the next few weeks and I believe it's traditional to spend the festive period with… what's the word…</span>
  <em>
    <span>? Loved ones</span>
  </em>
  <span>." There's amusement in his voice and Elias can't help but scoff at his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You sound ridiculous," he says, pauses, then "...Hold on, is that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>suitcase?</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's eyes light up as his husband spots a small travel bag that he's placed at the foot of Elias' bed. It isn't that big, but Elias knows him well enough to know there's certainly more than enough in there to last him a few weeks. For a few moments he's completely speechless, half expecting Peter to respond. When his question is met with silence (and presumably the assumption that it had been rhetorical) he sighs, downing the last of his wine and looking down at the street below.  "You can't be serious," he mutters, more to himself than to his husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckles. "What, don't have time for your own husband?" he teases, "Or is your bed occupied for the coming week?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Elias spins around to face him, his previous annoyance now turning into anger. He puts out his cigarette on the railings of his balcony and places it in the ashtray attached to it before pointing an accusatory finger to Peter's chest. "You can't just bring that up every time we disagree on something," he snaps, "It's not fair-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Isn't it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No! Besides, it only happened… twice. And you'd been gone for nearly a year without answering any of my calls!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm-hm."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Plus it was years ago, and it clearly didn't bother you that much because you've married me twice since then." Elias continues, and Peter opens his mouth to answer before closing it again when he doesn't have an answer. He sighs, defeated, and Elias can't help but smirk in satisfaction at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while, they don't talk. Elias turns his gaze back to the streets beneath them, which are now fairly busy as groups of trendy, daddy's-money millennials clamber into cabs on their way to their respective parties. At some point Peter moves slightly closer to him, his arm brushing against his shoulder. He's wearing his wedding ring, Elias notices, and unlike his own, it's lost its shine from wear and tear. He wonders when Peter last took it off and feels an unfamiliar twisting sensation in his stomach… jealousy, is it? No, not quite. Perhaps it's guilt - though he won't admit it, at least not out loud. He slides his hands along the balcony's railings until his fingers brush against the sides of Peter's hand, his skin calloused from work and sea-salt, rough against Elias' own. He looks up and their eyes meet, a sort of silent recognition shared between them- Then Peter's arms are around his waist, Elias' hands are cupping his face and they're kissing, hard and hot and full of anger and frustration and love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kissing Peter is much the same as it's always been; his lips are chapped and dry against Elias' own, and taste faintly of salt and whiskey. His beard scratches slightly, though the sensation isn't unpleasant, and there's a definite rush to it that can only be achieved by doing something so antithetical to the purpose of The Lonely with one of its own avatars. Elias smirks as their lips slot together and slide apart with practised ease, grazing his teeth over his husband's bottom lip and watching him through his lashes as his pale cheeks redden. He could happily stay like this, continuing to kiss his husband on the balcony of his apartment until his lips are red and swollen and his mouth is numb - and he probably would if it weren't for the wolf whistle of a passerby on the streets below, whose slightly drunk laugh brings Elias back into the real world. His heart races inside his chest and his grins, still holding his husband's face in his palms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," he says, "This is-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice?" Peter interrupts him, his usually cold, distant eyes glinting dangerously in the warm amber of the streetlamps, "Yes, I suppose it is, dear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this Elias pulls away, pulling a face. "Don't call me that," he says, hesitates, then, "I assume you want help unpacking?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them return inside, and Elias closes the window and shuts the curtain as his husband starts going through his dresser, reorganising his drawers so he'll have room for his own belongings. It's oddly domestic, especially considering it won't even last until the end of January. Still, Elias watches him all the same, Looking through the eyes of the wedding photograph on his vanity when they've got their backs to each-other. It doesn't take long for the bag to be emptied and for Peter's clothes to be folded neatly beside Elias' own, nestling snugly amongst made-to-measure dress shirts and silk ties. At some point the clock in the living room chimes for nine o'clock, and Elias' wedding ring makes its way from the bottom drawer of his wardrobe (beneath the charger for his vibrator, which has seen significant use since he last saw Peter) and onto his finger once again. While his husband is unpacking his wash kit - which is surprisingly small - he rearranges the top of the dresser so that his husband's hairbrush is placed neatly beside his own and their wedding photo is unobscured by his aftershave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Peter re-enters the room, he's left his coat behind, dressed in a sweater and pair of navy blue slacks that still look characteristically nautical. Elias can't help but smile to himself as he approaches him at the dresser, wrapping his arms around his body and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Letting out a sigh of content, he closes his eyes and leans back into his husband's embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>handsy</span>
  </em>
  <span> tonight," he mutters, smiling to himself as his beard tickles the side of his face. Peter responds by kissing him again, this time on the jaw, before gently grazing his teeth over the skin. Elias doesn't need to Look at him to know that he's smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Am I now?" he muses. His arms slide out of the warm embrace in favour of resting his hands on his ass. His lips drag over his husband's jaw, sucking red marks into the skin and punctuating them with a small bite that causes his breath to hitch and falter. Elias nods, inhaling shakily before replying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, you are. It's rather… oh…" he bites his lip and his voice trails off as Peter's hands- significantly larger than his own- give his ass a squeeze, enough to draw a sudden (though not unwelcome) squeak of surprise from his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rather what?" Peter asks, his voice low and teasing in his ear. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Distracting</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm…" Elias breathes, "Something like that." A noise leaves his throat - something akin to a whimper - as Peter bites his neck, licking over his jugular vein as it pulses rapidly beneath his skin. His tongue feels hot and wet, his lips slightly damp with spit as they press against his ear and gently suck and nip at the lobe. It's not often that Elias finds himself actively avoiding Knowing what someone is thinking, and now is one such time. The Beholding seems transfixed on him, Watching him with frustration - or maybe exasperation - as he ignores its demands and simply relaxes in his husband's arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Peter pulls away, and Elias takes the opportunity to turn around and switch their positions, shoving him against the dresser before reconnecting their lips in a harsh, biting kiss. Peter lets out a groan into his mouth, eyes falling shut as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs just hard enough for it to hurt. One of Elias' hands cups his face, the other resting on his chest and pinning him to the dresser. There's a definite dominance in his kiss, a certain sense of command in the way he pushes his mouth open with his tongue and grazes his teeth over his swollen lips. He lets out a soft hum of satisfaction as Peter allows it, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Their teeth knock against each other's as it becomes more frantic and more desperate; Elias reaches to roughly grab a fistful of his husband's hair, pulling sharply and eliciting a groan as he roughly explores the familiar warmth of his mouth, a swirl of pure carnal hunger building in the pit of his stomach. He runs his tongue over Peter's, before biting his bottom lip once more and pulling away, a string of saliva connecting their mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>tempting</span>
  </em>
  <span> like this, darling," he purrs, taking a moment to look at him properly and drinking him in as he stands before him. He's pressed up against his dresser with kiss-swollen, spit-slicked lips and a tent in his trousers. He’s passive and compliant to Elias’ touch; it's an all-too-pleasing sight and he smirks, running a hand down his husband’s chest. Peter just smiles, his line of sight flicking from his body to his lips, his hands sliding under Elias’ shirt and coming to rest on his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could say the same to you,” he says softly, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this, dear, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a while since you’ve seen me full stop.” Elias replies firmly, cutting him off, “You might as well make it up to me tonight.” He leans in and presses his lips to Peter’s neck, his beard tickling his face as he bites his jugular hard enough to elicit a groan of pleasure (or perhaps pain) from his husband. Chuckling at his reaction, he slides a leg between his and presses his thigh to his crotch, running his tongue over the small crescent-shaped bite marked embedded in his neck. The grip on Elias' waist tightens as he's pulled closer, his chest pressed against Peter's as he rubs his thigh against his cock through the material of his slacks. The kisses and bites he presses to his neck are slow but rough, all teeth and tongue and white-hot passion that's equal parts love and anger. He Watches Peter's expression through the eyes of a photograph on his desk and smirks into the crook of his neck; his bottom lip, bitten and bruised, is caught between his lips and his face is a beautiful shade of red as he slowly rolls his lips forward against Elias' thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's not quite sure why he enjoys this so much - of course, he partially likes it due to regular sexual attraction: Peter's much older than he used to be, yes, but age has done nothing to detract from his handsome features. He's tall and broad and fairly muscular from years of working at sea, and even hidden under the beard his face is incredibly attractive. Watching him groan and blush and writhe under his touch is an added bonus to this, one that can be explained simply by the fact that, despite it all, Elias still has all-too-human wants and desires that can be satisfied by the touch of another man. However, there's something else to it, something that makes tearing down his husband's walls and getting under his skin just that much more satisfying. Perhaps it's the intimacy of it all, the fact that relationships, sexual or otherwise, are entirely antithetical to the nature of The Lonely. Perhaps it's the control, the thrill of having someone with so much supposed power turn to putty in his hands. Perhaps it's the fact that, down to his very core, Elias Bouchard is a voyeur, a sadist who takes pleasure in Watching those who don't want to be seen, and in moments like this Peter Lukas is extremely hard to ignore. Whatever it is, Elias relishes in it, drinking in the way his husband holds him close and says his name, letting it consume him until it's the only thing on his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Elias," Peter breathes his husband's name like a prayer, pulling him out of his thoughts. His voice is soft and gentle, full of fear and adoration that goes straight to Elias' cunt. "Are you just planning on teasing me the entire night?" he continues, "Or do you plan on taking me to bed at some point?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias tuts, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance. "I plan to do whatever I like with you," he says, "You owe me that much at least." He pulls away from Peter's neck, admiring the hickeys on his pale neck before looking up to make eye contact with him. "Unless, of course, you're too tired from your journey."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course not, darling," the answer is gentle, almost loving, and for once Elias doesn't bother correcting him on the pet name. He presses his mouth to Peter's, soft and uncharacteristically chaste, before grabbing him by the collar of his sweater and leading him towards the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias feels Peter's hands undoing the silk robe before they're even on the bed, his calloused fingertips brushing over his chest. They kiss, and he chuckles into his mouth as his hands run down his abdomen and slide around his waist, coming to rest on his ass once more. He grinds into him, rolling his hips into his husband's and letting out a soft groan of pleasure as the fabric between them suddenly feels far too restrictive. When they reach the bed Elias pushes Peter onto it, barely giving him a chance to sit up before he climbs over him, straddling his thigh and pressing his knee to his crotch, drawing out a soft moan. He smirks, cupping his face in his hand and tutting in mock-pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Elias-</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look at yourself," he says, "I thought you liked being alone…" He slips his hands under Peter's sweater, rubbing circles into his hips with his thumbs before lifting the garment over his head and throwing it somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. "And yet here you are," he runs a hand down his husband's body, tracing the silvery-grey hair on his chest and stomach, "Spending the night at my mercy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter lets out a soft moan of pleasure, cheeks pink and lips parted as he rests a hand on Elias' thigh as he grinds against him. "It's worth it," he mutters, "To see you come undone like this. The great Jonah Magnus filled up like a common whore." There's a smile on his face, small but wicked, and Elias' breath hitches at his words.  He's undeniably soaking now, his cunt throbbing as he grinds against his husband's thigh with a shaky gasp of pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I were you," he says, his voice just firm enough to be a threat, "I'd shut up and start touching me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's hands rest on his bare thighs, just under the curve of his arse as he pulls him forward, their bodies pressed against each-other. His fingers squeeze the flesh there, nails digging into his skin just hard enough to elicit a soft gasp of pain-tinged pleasure, before one of his hands moves to press against his cunt through the damp fabric of his briefs. Elias is suddenly very, very aware of the fact that he's only covered by the thin silk bathrobe and his underwear and Peter is fully dressed from the waist down, something which only feels more apparent and he grinds against the tent in his trousers, gasping in pleasure as his husband bites his lip to stifle a groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter, darling,” he says, surprising himself with how still he manages to keep his voice, “You better not be planning to make me do </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the work tonight.” Peter rolls his eyes, fully aware that Elias can See him do it, his beard scratching his skin as he pressed a kiss to his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm, and what if I am?” he asks, and Elias tugs on his hair in annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you are,” Elias replies curtly, “I’m not shagging you for a month.” There’s just enough venom in his voice to let him know that he’s not kidding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Peter sighs, though Elias knows, lowercase k, that he can’t quite bring himself to be upset about it. He chuckles to himself, satisfied, and whines as his tongue traces the teeth-marks on his neck and his cock twitches in his trousers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” he hums softly and bites his bottom lip, certain that his neck is littered with deep purple bruises where his husband has marked him. He’s past the point of being embarrassed by how much it turns him on, and makes a point of grinding harder against the tent in Peter’s trousers, his own arousal soaking through the material of his underwear. Peter’s breathing is slow and shaky; he’s trying to control himself, trying to bite back a moan as Elias rubs against him, gasping and whimpering above him. He’s so very attractive like this, face flushed and bottom lip caught between his teeth, the cool damp mist of The Lonely swirling around his fingertips as he fights the urge to disappear, digging his nails into his thighs hard enough to make Elias hiss in pain as his patron begs him to pull away and leave him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter, as always, chooses him. It won’t last forever - it’ll take anywhere between a few weeks to a year for Peter to leave his side once again - but Elias Knows that right now, laying desperate and horny on his bed, his husband is just vulnerable enough to choose his all-too-human needs over the god he serves. And Elias is more than happy to take care of those needs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He licks his lips as Peter pulls away from his neck, his mouth red and swollen and slick with spit. For a moment the two of them stay like that, foreheads pressed together as they roll their hips into each other’s, their breath mingling in the mere inches of space between them. It’s a welcome, if strange, moment of closeness, of imperfectly human intimacy. There and then, on Elias’ bed on New Year’s Eve, they’re nothing more than two men, beautifully, tragically in love with each-other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three words leave Elias’ mouth before he has time to think about what he’s saying, and Peter returns them, the last pieces of his walls crumbling away into nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Elias is pulling Peter back in and their lips connect in a rough, open-mouthed kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth and fervent gasps as Elias trails his hands down his husband’s chest, pausing to roll his nipples under his thumb and elicit a low groan of pleasure before continuing down his abdomen towards his hips. He grinds down into him, arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach as he soaks through his underwear; by now he’s achingly horny, desperate for his husband’s cock, his mouth, his fingers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fill him up and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck him already.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He lets out a whine as he rubs against his erection, pulling away from the kiss to undo his trousers, lifting himself from his lap to help him as he kicks them off his legs and over the side of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve missed this,” he says, pressing the heel of his hand against Peter’s erection, palming his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear, “Missed getting to see you like this, getting to see you hard and desperate underneath me.” Peter groans, slipping his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you have,” he mutters, “Bloody harlot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias lets a soft chuckle escape his lips at this, helping him pull his underwear down his legs. "Only for you, love," he says, "Only ever for you." His husband bites his lip and watches, face red and breathing laboured as he straddles his thigh to admire him. His neck is covered in gorgeous dark bruises that probably match his own, his chest littered with small crescents of tooth-marks from where he'd bitten him. His cock sits erect between his legs, thick and heavy and dark with blood; he's hardly a small man, and he's on the larger side even for someone of his stature. Elias can't count the amount of times he's fantasized about his cock while he's been away, the amount of times he's fucked himself on a toy doing anything to get the same fullness, the same delicious stretch of his husband inside of him. It's never quite felt the same, never quite been right, and the number of times he's come over his bedsheets with a cry of his husband's name is almost equal to the number of times he's felt unsatisfied without him there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps his fingers around his cock, running his thumb over the tip and spreading precum down the head. Peter lets out a low, breathy groan, rolling his hips upwards into his hand and Elias smirks as he covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle his moans. He cups his chin in his free hand, tracing his cheek with his thumb as he slides his hand down his shaft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t cover your mouth, darling,” he tells him, his words just firm enough to be both a tease and a threat, “I want to hear you when you moan for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Elias -”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Elias cuts him off, and his husband whimpers pathetically as he squeezes the base of his cock, “Take your hand away from your mouth.” Peter sighs but does as he asks, and Elias rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Was that really so hard?” he asks, sliding his hand gradually up and down his length, jerking him off at a teasingly slow pace. He drinks him in as he thrusts his hips into his fingers, matching his pace at first but eventually speeding up - a silent plea for him to go faster. Elias ignores him, cunt throbbing as he gets him off, teasing his slit with his thumb and watching as he writhes and squirms underneath him. Peter’s hands slide underneath the fabric of the black silk of his bathrobe, nails digging into his thighs as his eyes fall shut and he fucks desperately into Elias’ hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elias, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please -</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he gasps, and Elias raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please </span>
  <em>
    <span>what, </span>
  </em>
  <span>darling?” he asks him, “Do you want me to go faster? Want me to make you cum like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s voice is low and breathy, but the neediness in his words are unmistakable. “You know exactly what I want, Elias,” he hisses, weakly enough that Elias just laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I now?” he pouts in mock-pity, free hand tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>want, love. I want to tease you until you’re desperate to fuck me, to keep you on the edge like this until you’re begging to be inside me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not finished, darling,” he squeezes his cock again, making Peter whimper softly and grip his thighs hard enough that Elias can practically feel the bruises forming. “Perhaps it will be good to teach you a bit of patience. You’ve certainly made </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>wait long enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You - </span>
  <em>
    <span>mhmm… </span>
  </em>
  <span>- you won’t,” Peter mutters, looking up at him through his lashes, “You’re terrible at taking your time with these sorts of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias’ hand stills for a second and he pulls away, frowning. “No I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you are,” his husband’s lips curl up into a small, smug smile - he’s pushing his luck and is fully aware of it - “You’ve done this before, Elias, and you’ve never had the patience for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t,” he narrows his eyes, ignoring the fact that his patron is telling him otherwise, “You’re getting into dangerous territory, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s silence for a few moments, and the two of them hold eye contact for a while, each daring the other to make the first move. It’s Elias who gives in eventually, far too horny to keep proving his point. “Remind me to gag you next time,” he says simply, leaning over to the bedside table to hand his husband a half-empty bottle of lube (that had been full before he’d left) and a condom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”  Peter replies, pouring a generous amount of the lube over his fingers, and Elias fights the urge to roll his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only because it would shut you up,” he lies, before grabbing his hand and pulling it between his legs. Peter obliges with a chuckle, running his fingers over his clit before pushing two inside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias lets out a long sigh of pleasure as he sinks down onto his fingers, clenching around him as he adjusts to the intrusion. It’s not too much of a stretch - he’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>maintaining </span>
  </em>
  <span>himself enough that it feels almost natural - and within moments he’s rolling his hips against his husband’s hand as he slides his fingers in and out of his cunt, wet with lube and his own arousal. His digits press against his walls and scissor him open, and Elias gasps, eyes fluttering shut as he rolls his clit under his thumb and angles his fingers inside him until they brush over his g-spot. His voice breaks as he moans his husband’s name, gripping a fistful of his hair and pulling hard enough to elicit a groan from the man beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>God, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter--” </span>
  </em>
  <span>his voice is high-pitched and breathy, lips parted and drool running from the corner of his mouth, “Fuck, that’s - </span>
  <em>
    <span>ahh</span>
  </em>
  <span>... r-right there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter squeezes his thigh with the hand still underneath his bathrobe, the black silk ridden up and sliding off his shoulder. Even without Looking, Elias knows he’s smirking, far too pleased with himself considering he’s hardly doing any of the work, and it only makes him fuck himself on his fingers harder, faster, more desperately until his digits hit his g-spot with every thrust. A rush of pleasure jolts through his body that makes his legs quiver and his whines higher and needier, and he lets out a shaky ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>as he spreads his legs wider and clenches his fists in his husband’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that, Elias?” Peter asks, and if Elias weren’t being fingerfucked in his husband’s lap, he might’ve rolled his eyes. Instead he groans, unabashed and shameless, looking down at Peter through his lashes and gasping out through his cries of pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me,” he tells him, “Please just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck... </span>
  </em>
  <span>just fuck me already…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you wanted to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>beg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Peter,” Elias breathes, “Please just shut up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He barely thinks before he speaks, far too desperate to focus on anything other than his husband’s fingers inside him and the fact that he’s not currently being fucked into the mattress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter leans forward and kisses him, capturing his moans in his mouth as he slowly pulls his fingers out, wet and slick with lube and Elias’ arousal. The kiss is fast and sloppy as Peter fumbles for the condom, pulling away to roll it over his length. Elias pushes him down so that he's leaning against the pillows before placing a knee firmly either side of his hips, straddling him and gradually sinking down onto his dick. He lets out a gasp as he does, pausing half-way as he adjusts to the stretch. "Always forget how big you are," he mutters, bites his lip, then sinks down further onto his cock. His husband groans underneath him and Elias clenches as he feels him twitch inside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Elias…" he hisses, gripping his thighs tightly, "Let me know when I can--"</span>
</p><p><span>Elias doesn't let him finish his sentence, lifting himself off of Peter almost entirely before dropping back down, a high-pitched, breathy moan of bliss leaving his bruised lips. The stretch is delicious, just on the painful side of pleasurable, and the way he fills him up so nicely, so </span><em><span>completely, </span></em><span>is borderline intoxicating. “</span><em><span>Peter--</span></em><span>”</span> <span>He gasps his name, stumbling over the syllables as he fucks himself on his cock, “God-- yes, darling that’s- </span><em><span>ahh…</span></em><span>” Peter’s grip on his thighs tightens and he rolls his hips into him, his length twitching inside him as he groans in bliss. He’s never been much of a talker, but Elias drinks in every sound he makes, every shaky gasp and breathy moan of his name, clenching around his husband as he thrusts into him. </span></p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Elias--</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Peter says his name, soft and needy as he sits up and pulls him into his arms, tangling his fingers in his hair and pressing his lips to his neck. It’s almost romantic, and Elias moans as he melts into his embrace, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and speeding up until he’s practically bouncing on his cock, soaking wet and desperate as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back with a cry of pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, Peter</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s--” he cuts himself off with a gasp as his husband’s member hits a spot inside him that makes him practically sob with pleasure, a thin line of spit dribbling from his parted lips as he moans. Peter thrusts his hips upwards to meet his own, hitting the same spot and biting his neck to muffle his groans. He digs his nails into his shoulders and drags them down his back, the pain only adding to the pleasure as Elias whimpers his name between desperate, breathy moans and cries to a god that isn’t listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Peter is grabbing his thighs and pushing him down onto his back, barely giving him time to process the change before he pushes back into him and fucks him harder, faster more desperately, setting a new pace that makes Elias grab the sheets beneath him so tightly he swears he can feel them tearing. He wraps his legs around his husband’s waist, one hand gripping the sheets beneath him and the other scratching Peter’s back as he fucks him into the mattress. He’s already incredibly sensitive after being fingered earlier, and the pace is so much, bordering on </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>much, and Elias can’t get enough of it, gasping and whining and babbling an incoherent mess of praise and desperate pleas for more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter, please, I--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter cuts him off with a groan, biting his neck roughly as he pounds into him. “God-- Do you ever shut up?” he hisses, and Elias whimpers, biting his bottom lip as he feels himself drawing closer and closer to his climax. He barely registers his husband’s words, arching his back with a gasp as his cock slams into his g-spot over and over, body too weak and overstimulated to do anything but let Peter have his way with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, harder, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please--!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Elias drags his nails down his back, feeling a wet warmth gather under his nails. Peter lets out a gasp of pain, muffled against his neck, as he repositions himself so that he’s directly above Elias, lifting his legs so they’re hooked over his shoulder before adjusting his pace again. Elias practically sobs, his body aching from overstimulation, as the headboard smacks against the wall and he claws at his husband’s back, barely able to form words as his cock fucks him open and fills him up. It’s almost degrading how used he feels, his husband ploughing into him with one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping his thigh, and he lets out a high, breathy cry of pleasure as he feels his orgasm creep closer and closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter, I’m -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh...  fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes --</span>
  </em>
  <span> please, I’m so…” He cuts himself off with a moan as tears begin to slide down his face, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so fucking close--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’s coming, white-hot bliss burning through him as he climaxes, squirting over Peter’s cock. He gasps and whimpers pathetically, unable to focus on anything other than his own pleasure as he digs his nails harder into his husband’s back and rides out his orgasm, thigh quivering and tears rolling down his cheek as he sobs in pleasure and moans his name. Peter fucks him through it, biting his ear and groaning his name between low, desperate gasps of pleasure. It takes a moment for him to get his bearings, rolling his hips weakly against his husband’s, but once he does he bites his lip and mutters, “Come on me, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter, as always, does as he asks, and Elias whimpers at the sudden emptiness as he pulls out, watching him through his lashes with a hazy, fucked-out grin as he takes off the condom and wraps a hand around his swollen cock. He jerks off quickly, focused only on his own pleasure, spreading precum over his member as he groans Elias’ name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes with a low moan in hot, white spurts over his chest, and Elias bites his lips and watches, basking in the heat of his own arousal as his bruised skin is coated in ropes of thick, white cum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s silence for a moment and Peter kneels between his legs, the rise and fall of his chest heavy and uneven as he gets his breath back. Elias just grins, relaxing against the pillow and letting out a soft chuckle of satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was… fulfilling,” he says, and Elias rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you wanted me to make it up to you,” Peter replies simply, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table and handing it to his husband, “I presume I succeeded?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias nods, sitting up and wiping his cum from his chest, well past the point of being embarrassed. “Trust me, dear, you would know if you hadn’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Peter clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in mock-exasperation, leaning forward to press his lips to his husband’s, lingering for a moment before pulling away to mutter, “...I love you, you know.” It’s a little more vulnerable than either of them are used to, and Elias rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross,” he mutters, hesitates, then- “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watch the fireworks over the Thames that night, sharing a bottle of champagne and a cigarette on Elias’ balcony. They don’t say a word to each other, but Elias prefers it this way: quiet, gentle, and just warm enough that when their relationship inevitably falls apart again they’ll be able to build it back up like they have done so many times before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure if it’s worth it, but he enjoys it nonetheless - and he supposes he might as well make the most of it. If everything goes as planned it won’t last forever, and Elias can only hope they’ll be in the midst of a divorce when that time comes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>peter voice fuck an avatar of the eye call that a bussy (beholding pussy). </p><p> </p><p>im sorry class</p></blockquote></div></div>
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